COOL AND CLEAR 



Our little craft — a lo-feet dinghy — is anchored under 

 Teddington Weir, and so close to the foaming, tumbling 

 overshoot that the spray flicks one's face from time to 

 time most refreshingly, while the rush of water creates 

 a breeze more cooling than that set up by many electric 

 fans revolving simultaneously. 



We heard it whispered in the smoking-room of a certain 

 riverside hostelry last night that a lusty trout had been 

 observed feeding in the weir pool, close by where we are 

 moored, and over the stern of the boat a light spinning- 

 rod bends to the strain of the current like a wind-swayed 

 reed. To the silken line and gut-trace is attached a 

 small silvery dace as a lure for the speckled denizens of 

 the pool. Not that we are very hopeful of receiving a 

 visit from his troutship, for despite the fact that we have 

 fished for a Thames trout many a time and oft, we do 

 not remember ever to have had a " run " from one 

 even. Still it is the unexpected which so frequently 

 happens to the angler, and who can tell but what we may 

 land — or rather " boat " — the leviathan of the pool on 

 this glorious June afternoon? 



When we were here a few weeks ago, shoals of roach and 



dace were to be seen attempting to leap the weir in their 



anxiety to run up to suitable spawning beds on the 



gravelly shallows at Hampton and elsewhere. The 



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